


A Tombstone Colder Than His Heart

by MorgenRose0407



Category: Dionysia, TikTok - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, dai_kun_
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Other, Stabbing, Swearing, TW: Blood, TikTok, Torture, dai_kun_ - Freeform, tw: death, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorgenRose0407/pseuds/MorgenRose0407
Summary: He shouldn’t have expected this so soon. Out of everyone he loved, she didn’t deserve to leave this world like she did. But now she’s gone, and Jackson is left behind to handle the mess left behind.Characters belong to @dai_kun_ on TikTok. Please give him a follow his storylines and OCs are STUNNING.
Kudos: 1





	A Tombstone Colder Than His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a TikTok fanfiction. Yes, I am currently addicted to TikTok. And yes...I am doing this instead of homework.
> 
> All characters belong to @dai_kun_ who deserves a follow because my God, that acting and makeup and OCs and one of main reasons for said TikTok addiction.
> 
> ALSO: Please note that there IS some deviancy from the storyline dai_kun_ is portraying, because I could not find some information for the lovely Jackson. So I truly apologize if I had gotten something wrong in this story.

“It is only fitting that Heaven itself cries for it’s newly claimed angel.” The priest stated, opening his umbrella as the droplets began to turn into a downpour. The spectators, those who brought one, stood there and opened ones as well – while sniffling and crying, of course.

One had already had his umbrella out, having been hiding from the sun rather than the rain.

“We gather here today to honor and pay tributes to the life and memory of Jazmin Matthews.” The priest continued, looking out to the crowd. His eyes kept meeting the man with the only red rose on his lapel, but he quickly moved away from the crimson gaze. “A devoted daughter, sister, and caretaker. Jazmin was said to be the light of people’s lives. It is heartbreaking that that light was snuffed out so quickly.”

 _You need to relax your hand._ Whatever sane part of him whispered, as Jackson slowly loosened his grip on the umbrella he held over his head. His hand cracked a bit as it relaxed, and Jackson grimaced as his muscles groaned in pain. Yet, now, he already missed that gripping feeling.

And why shouldn’t he feel pain anyway? It was better than feeling nothing at this point. Jackson stared at the casket, a beautiful willow with golden trims and handles. It matched her wonderfully. Her pale skin, her golden hair. She had always been some sort of Sun child, while he was claimed by the night. His own slicked back black hair that felt like tar on his scalp and the fangs poking into his bottom lip reminded him as such.

Jazmin had been his only solace in this life. His parents, buried in the plot right next to the open hole that she now hovered over, never approved of his lifestyle. Always too harsh, always too judgmental. It was why he went to Dionysia in the first place – to get away from them. But he always kept Jazmin within sight, always writing and texting her, making sure that she had been safe and grew up well. He had even offered to pay for her university schooling had she just chosen the one closest to him. He had been protective of his younger sister. He didn’t want her turning out like…like him. Harsh, self-serving, and cold.

But now, cold is all she would ever be.

She had said no, of course, to his offer of a full ride to an elite university. She had always been the stubborn one. But she promised to have dinner with him every Saturday night. It was why, when she hadn’t called that afternoon to ask for whatever take out they were going to get that night, that he had gotten worried. Jazmin was never late, not to a single thing in her life (something he could never live up to). So, he had went over without a call or text. Without a forewarning of what he was going to come to her apartment to.

“Though she was not entirely a religious woman, I see it fitting to read to you Isaiah 57:1 – 2.” The priest stated as he tucked his umbrella into the crook of his arm, opening a Bible he had brought with him.

Jazmin’s door had been opened, and he had walked in without a thought. It usually was – usually from Mrs. Alvarez from down the hall visiting for small talk – but he was not met with a plump old lady who always pinched his cheeks.

“The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart;” The priest began, looking down at his book. A few more began to sniffle, one was crying to the point of gasping for air.

He had come in to disarray. Things thrown around, her couch flipped on itself, her table turned over. There was a pot boiling over on the stove. And there was Jazmin, the Sun child, dead on the floor from a slash to her throat.

“The devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.” The priest continued, a glance casting over to Jackson as his hand was tightening on his umbrella and his face began to scrunch as the vampire fought tears.

She had been staring at him with those old hazel eyes that he used to have before his change. Her arms splayed out, the heel on her left foot snapped and her ankle being slightly swollen. Her mouth was open delicately, as if she was screaming something to him though he was too deaf to hear her.

“Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.” He finished, closing his book. “Let us pray for the spirit of Jazmin Matthews.” Heads bowed and eyes closed as he lead the group as a whole into a prayer.

Jackson couldn’t close his eyes. He kept seeing her. Seeing her face stare blankly away no matter how he turned her head to look at him. He kept seeing the blood on his hands, her blood, that stained not only his skin but his nostrils with the smell. He kept seeing Jazmin, dead, long before she deserved to be taken away from him.

As they prayed, he pulled off his circular glasses. He cast his crimson eyes to the picture of her that they chose. Her college graduation portrait, the gold necklace around her throat glimmering from the camera’s flash. Her bright smile was taunting him, and he felt a rage fill his heart before he looking into her eyes. He looked away again, then back at them as tears started to crawl down his face. Eyes once filled with life and love and joy…the ones that haunt him now were filled with emptiness, and a memory of pain.

Jazmin Matthews was laid to rest at 26 years old. Her brother, Jackson, was left alone as she was buried next to the rest of their family. He was the only one left.

* * *

It had been a burglary “gone wrong,” as the police called it that took her from him. There had been a few within the city, all without a trace of who had caused it. The most recent hit was Jazmin’s apartment, and it had been the first crime scene where there was a body. The police had nothing to find him. Whoever he was, he had made a lifestyle out of taking things from others and profiting off of their loss.

Jackson had been assured that the police had it handled, that he needed to focus on her memory and belongings (what was left) instead of the investigation. But her memory only brought anger, and the belongings only cause misery. He needed an outlet, he needed to let everything go.

He had to find the bastard.

He took bereavement from his work, then took personal days, then took sick days. His secretary asked for him constantly, and he only ever responded with, “I’m busy.” It took him weeks, possibly even a month, to dig through every inch of whatever information he could get. Either from bribed cops or his own personal connections to the darker side of Dionysia, he got the information that he wanted. There was a lot of things that existed in the city limits of Dionysia – and ghosts was not one of them.

There was this kid, a few years younger than Jazmin, who was going around talking about taking some “rich nurse’s” golden necklace. It had to be him. If it wasn’t…Jackson didn’t know what he would do.

So, he staged something. He took one of his assistant’s apartments and told her to leave for the night – something she was more than happy to do once he offered her a hefty check for a place to stay for the night. He set it up perfectly. He had his more unsavory colleagues tell whispers about a mistress whose lover was filthy rich, to the point where she had just gotten diamond earrings. And that, it was unfortunate, because she wouldn’t be able to wear them tonight when she left for the theater with said lover.

It was the most blatant bait anyone had ever concocted…and yet this slimy little weasel took it.

He snuck in at 11:48pm in the balcony sliding door. He jimmied the lock, rather loudly might Jackson add, and slid it open with little regard. The prick snuck in on the balls of his feet, surveying the living room before closing the door behind him. He then walked to the lamp and pulled on the string, making the room bathe in a golden light.

And there was Jackson, sitting on the couch, sipping on some of the worst red wine he ever tasted, staring at him. At first the thief did nothing, only froze, before starting to hurry to the door. But Jackson was faster.

“Now where are you going, sneaky little snake?” He demanded, slamming the theif’s body into the door before flipping him over and throwing him into the glass coffee table. The burglar felt through, shattering it to pieces and causing him to gasp and groan in pain. Jackson took the opportunity to lock the door again, rolling up his white dress shirt’s sleeves before stalking towards the man.

“Come now, be a man.” The thief, surely pissing his pants by now as the tall Vampire with blazing red eyes and tall fangs stared down at him. “Or are you really nothing more than a little bitch?”

The man rose with the help of the couch, and Jackson let him. He wanted this fight. He didn’t want a pure bloodbath, that would be no fun…he wanted to savor it. The man swung and Jackson grabbed his fist, twisting it, then slamming his arm down with full force on the thief’s forearm. He heard a sickening crack and the man cried out, grabbing for his arm before Jackson tugged him closer and slammed his forehead into his nose.

The thief yelled and fell back onto the couch, grabbing at his face with his functioning arm while the other laid limp at his side. Jackson relished in the smell of his blood, taking it in and licking his fangs with the faintest idea of drinking the bastard dry. Then, the prick brandished a knife. One that had the slightest taints of old, dried blood on it.

Jackson took pause of a second and the thief took that second. He jabbed forward, aiming for his torso, but Jackson grabbed his wrist. “You…” He seethed, pushing the arm back and using his other hand to grab his throat. “You didn’t…even clean it…after you _killed her_?!” He roared, spit flying onto the man’s face. Fear coated his brown eyes as he stared into the eyes of a beast.

Forget savoring, forget letting him suffer, forget all of it. Jackson now only wanted his blood. And he wanted it now. Driving his elbow into the man’s forearm, he heard another crunch. The thief cried out again, louder than before, and Jackson could see the bone poking from the skin. The blade fell to the ground and Jackson kicked it to the side, throwing the man over to it.

The man began to cry as he laid on his back, his legs kicking out slightly as he writhed in pain. Jackson stalked to him, staring down and mumbling, “Did she cry?” The man stared at him, confusion in him as he began to genuinely shake in terror. “Did she beg for her life?” The man started scooting back, pushing himself to lean against the half-wall that protected someone from falling down the stairs. “Or did you just slit her throat and move on with your _pathetic, miniscule, disgusting_ life, with no concern of who you made her _leave behind_?!” Jackson now screamed at him, his hands clenching and showing his blackened nails that seemed more like talons in the dim light.

“I’m sorry.” He the man cried, staring up at him. Unable to grab the weapon that laid mere inches next to him, his arms twisted and broke as his nose bled like a fountain. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I-I just…I needed the money. I-I needed-“

“What you needed _doesn’t_ _matter to ME_!” Jackson hollered again, arching over him like a demon claiming a soul. The man whimpered again, crying out and begging for mercy. “What matters, is that you die.” Jackson whispered to him, staring as he grabbed the knife and the man’s’ whimpers turned silent. The two stared at each other for a second or two, allowing Jackson to hear his heart beating faster than a rabbit’s within his chest.

Before he plunged the weapon into his chest and twisted it as hard as he could.

* * *

“Mr. Matthews?” Jackson smiled kindly at the soft voice of his secretary. Poor Eliza, he may have to send her something for all this mess.

“Yes, dear?” He asked, smiling as he imagined her fumbling with the phone after he responded so calmly after weeks of anger and hostility.

“Will you be coming in today?” She asked, a mere whisper to him. “The board is getting anxious and some of your assistants are complaining-“

“Yes, Eliza,” He responded, “I will be in today.”

“Oh!” She said quickly, and she let out a sigh, “That’s wonderful, sir. When should I tell the board to expect you?”

“Tell them 1:30pm, I will bring them lunch for all their troubles.” He offered, smiling a bit before his eyes cast over. “Oh, Eliza?”

“Yes, Mr. Matthews?”

“Please contact my accountant and ask him to transfer over however much Ms. Angella’s remaining lease is. I will need to compensate her for using her apartment.” He held up the gold chain to the light, watching as it glittered with the red blood dripping from it.

“Yes, sir, anything else?” He could hear her typing on her mechanical keyboard over the phone. Jackson looked back over at the body leaning against the half-wall. The knife now in a certain misfortunate place, other wounds drying with blood in his chest. Jackson could hardly remember how many of those he made, but from where he was seated on the floor, he could count at least 26.

“Please send a clean up crew to my location.” He asked, smiling, “I may have made another mess.”


End file.
